Love Letters
by starcompass
Summary: Anne/Gilbert - Ingleside time, Anne worries about Gilbert and spends alone time looking back through love letters


LOVE LETTERS  
by aircompass  
  
Inspired by Ebony Elizabeth and Becca Keller because of  
"Gilbert's Letter" and "The Announcement" :) The timeframe of this   
is...Rainbow Valley, I suppose. I dunno. I really hope you like  
it...tell me what you think too! :)  
  
DISCLAIMER: Many thanks to LM Montgomery.  
I wrote this story, she owns everything else.  
  
The night was warm and breezeless. Anne Blythe twisted   
uncomfortably under the bedclothes. She couldn't sleep. Sighing,   
she threw the sheets from her body and found her slippers. She  
grimaced and realized she was sweating profusely.  
Ugh, she thought. I just took a bath. She fanned herself with  
her hand while ungluing her drenched camisole from her stomach.  
Anne had decided that it was too hot to wear a nightie and worn a   
camisole and Gilbert's pajama bottoms. Gilbert Blythe.  
Anne moved down the stairs. 12:47 AM. He still wasn't home. She  
sighed. Gilbert hadn't been getting enough sleep. Lately, he'd  
been catching at most 3 hours a day. For this reason, Anne   
herself couldn't sleep properly. She worried herself to near  
hysterical till he got home and even then, she would tuck him  
in and make sure he was comfortable.  
What else could she do? She couldn't very well lock him in their  
bedroom for all eternity. This was something different. Anne knew  
Gilbert loved his job. She would never do something to stop him  
from doing what he loved. She just happened to realize that  
because of his job, she felt like she was losing that one person  
who could completely comprehend her. She was 'scandalously in  
love' with him. What COULD she do?  
Anne crept around the living room, careful not to wake anyone.   
She lifted the lid of a cedar chest designed to look like a seat,  
placed near the fireplace. Pulling out a letter, she began to   
read...  
  
Anne-girl,  
I just finished prowling through volumes of medical journals and  
books of high-faluting scientific mumbo-jumbo. It's 3AM and I  
have not so much as moved off this seat in 9 hours. It's amazing   
how your letters appear at a time when I need to feel you with me.   
How much do I miss you, my love? Do you know?  
I have just received word that a professor of mine will not be  
attending classes tomorrow, therefore no examination. I have just  
studied my ass off for a test that won't transpire.   
Oh me, Carrots. Take me from this hell.  
My friends(who would LOVE to meet you, by the way) have been  
reproaching me for working too hard. For awhile, they were forcing  
me to go out with some girls. Later on, they discovered your  
letters and have resorted to teasing me relentlessly. There are  
some really nice girls here...I'm positive you'd get along with  
them. Some of them ask about you. I tell them that you'd tell the  
story much better.  
My parents, my mother specifically have been warning me to take  
care of myself. Then, as their letters progress, they begin talking  
about you. My mother always wanted a daughter and my father has   
always wanted someone to baby. See, Carrots? I'm beginning to think  
my parents love you more than they love me. But then, you're my baby.  
You asked me if I was aware of your 'lovely, creamy skin' or if you  
were 'comparatively beautiful'? Yes, I am aware of your 'lovely,   
creamy skin' because I dream on nothing else but your cheek against   
mine. No, you are not only comparatively beautiful. You are so much   
more than that. Do you know how difficult it is to hold medical   
instruments when I want to hold you, to cradle you in my arms?  
I can almost feel your hands, slender and fragile, clasped in my  
own. In my mind's eye, I see the smudge of ink on your fingers  
contrasting with the creamy white of your skin.  
There are days I almost wish you weren't MY love. If you weren't,  
I shan't miss you so terribly. For that cause, I could run myself   
to the ground catching the fever firmly believing that you would   
not be hurt because you would not care. But you are, indeed MY   
love and that makes it all the more difficult to be apart.  
Because I love you more than I thought I could ever love anybody,  
and somehow, God deemed me good enough to have you. You are much   
more than I deserve.  
Don't go falling in love with somebody else, now.  
Yours,  
Gil  
  
Gilbert Blythe!   
Get your sleeping ass of your desk chair and have dinner out! Go out   
on a ramble! You are in Kingsport, there are so many places you can   
visit! You have friends too. I'm sure they have ideas. Nine hours!   
Unheard of!!! Your mother wrote to me too and we have agreed that if   
you so much as get a headache, Gil, I swear you will not receive  
a single word from this girl. Not a word. I may love you, but I  
don't want you killing yourself. I just got you...  
It's odd. Most of the time we tell each other, as I am certain   
other couples do, that neither of them is worth the other. Do you  
know what I think, Gil? It's the fact that we think this way that  
makes us more worthy because it means we see each other in this   
way that nature meant it. We are all imperfect people, but because  
I love YOU...you are perfect. And that's why I wouldn't want you  
any other way.   
It's another one of those nights, dearest. The breeze is cool, the  
night starry, and my pen exactly right. I dreamt of you last night,  
calling me in that voice you use that tells me exactly what you feel.  
It's the voice you use when you touch my cheek, when you tell me  
you love me. It's the voice that makes me cry.  
The smell of trees have entered my room. The breeze has brought it   
here. I can almost smell you, my love. You are with me, at this  
moment, in this room. You have wrapped your arms around me and   
whisper my name. And I know.  
Just like I knew I wanted you, and not Roy. Not Roy, Gil. It was   
you all along...  
  
Dearest...  
My Love...  
Gilbert Darling...  
Dear Gil...  
  
Dear Anne,  
This may seem silly since I can take you out for a ramble and return  
even more deliriously happy than deemed possible. But somehow, it  
feels more right like this...  
My words are crude, Anne-girl, but I am not the writer, you are.  
I have written because I wanted to do something I hadn't done in a  
while. A real love letter, something I hadn't done since our  
correspondence at Windy Poplars seemed the perfect thing.  
Carrots, you have made me happier than any sane man could be.   
You have blessed me with beautiful children, a wonderful life, and   
all the love I could ever want or need.  
To think that I have you. To know that when you fall into my arms,  
you want to be there. There are still times I wake up and watch you  
sleep, wondering what I ever did to be gifted with such a person  
in my life and I remember you.  
You once told me that we never think we deserve each other because  
as imperfect people, those we love become perfect and it is in that  
way of thinking that causes this complex. Then you said you loved  
me. And those words, comfort me all days of my life.  
5 times, I almost lost you. And I wonder how wasted my life would  
have been. I remember coming home for the first time, to a home  
that was truly ours. Our House of Dreams, Anne-girl. The night we  
were married.  
We walked around the garden for awhile, and you turned to me.  
"Gil..." you whispered hesitantly. You held out your arms and I  
drew you in an embrace. I clung to you tightly, not quite  
believing that after so long, you really were my wife.  
"Gil, I know I sound improper..."  
"What is it Anne?" I whisper.  
"I think I want you..." you laughed.  
"That's no problem." I laugh back. Your blushing face turns to face  
mine. We kiss gently and I carry you in my arms, over the threshold,  
up the stairs. The first night we made love. Beautiful.  
Anne-girl, I love you. The only way I can tell you properly is  
to quote myself, many years ago.  
I love you more than I thought I could ever love anybody.   
Happy Anniversary, My Love.  
GIL  
  
Anne was weeping. Teardrops had punctuated the letter she had just  
been reading. Not hers. Gilbert had shed tears while writing the   
letter for his wedding anniversary. That had made it all the more  
precious...Gilbert did not weep often.  
She glanced up at the clock. 2:43AM. A noise out on the porch.  
Cautiously, she peeked out through the curtain. Her husband was  
home, seated on their porch...thinking deeply.  
"Hello Gil..." she whispered, moving out onto the steps.  
"Hello..." he replied hollowly.   
Anne moved and lay her head in his lap, gazing up at him with all  
the love in her heart resting in her eyes. He grasped her hand and  
kissed her fingers. His other hand played with her long red braid.  
"Thank you." he said.  
Anne smiled and said nothing. She was in the arms of Gilbert Blythe,  
the most wonderful boy in the world. And they belonged to  
each other.  
  
END :) 


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